Edward Nigma returned to his hideout,
pulled a chalkboard from the storeroom, and drew a large question mark with
green chalk.He poured himself
a glass of Glenundromm, his favorite scotch, and held it up to the beguiling
symbol of the unknown.

“A loaf of bread, a glass of wine, and
thou,” he toasted.“Or a box of
Triscuits and a glass of scotch,” he shrugged.

He had a mystery to solve, a mystery
that might just revitalize his criminal career:What was Oswald up to?

What was Oswald up to?What was
Oswald up to?What was Oswald up to?

Oswald Cobblepot was the cheapest man
alive, particularly where the Iceberg was concerned.Riddler would have been astonished to receive a free drink on his
birthday, let alone this… this… enigmatic “gift.” But after Selina left, Oswald had waddled up to the table
and said he overheard her mention Eddie’s birthday.Then he puffed himself up importantly, quacked a few times,
and said he was in “a unique position to offer a most –kwak–
advantageous boon to a select circle of my –kwak– most
respected colleagues.”This
“boon” would ordinarily go for $100,000 up front, and a monthly tribute of
twenty percent of whatever the buyer earned with it.But in honor of Eddie’s birthday, Penguin said he was prepared to
waive the buy-in fee, so sure was he that twenty percent of the esteemed
Riddler’s take would more than compensate him for his generosity.

“EYEING ROTS” Eddie told the question
mark.“SO TEENY RIG”… “I YESTER
NOG, in fact”… “I GREENS TOY!”… The word “Generosity,” promising as it was
as a rootword for anagrams, did not exist in the Penguin’s pompous
vocabulary.The payoff Oswald
was expecting would have to be enormous for him to give away a $100,000
buy-in just to have the Riddler involved. Eddie
was burning to know the details of the scheme, but he didn’t want it spelled
out for him in Oswald’s overblown oratory; he wanted to figure it out for
himself.Then he would
decide if he wanted to be a part of it.It really wasn’t his style to sign on as a humble participant in
someone else’s intrigues, birthday gift or not.It would be far more satisfying to work out the details of Oswald’s
masterplan and incorporate that into a greater strategy of his own.

Unfortunately, the only lead he had to
go on were those two girls from the Iceberg, two of the cat-groupies he saw
disappearing into the back room after last call…Jervis said their names were Felicity and Felicia, but Sly thought
the second one was called Felina (which made Eddie wince, anticipating
Selina’s reaction), while Raven thought it was Felita.All Eddie knew for sure was that they were cat-groupies and that
Oswald asked them to stay after closing.

It wasn’t much to go on, but he was
the Riddler after all, and this was a puzzle.No puzzle could remain unsolved if he directed all the faculties of
his great brain to unlocking its secrets!

“Felicity and Felina?” Bruce
asked, allowing a trace of the old playboy to slip into the business persona
he’d maintained since these women entered his office.“How… charming.”

They smiled at him, and the first one (Felina?) struck what Bruce
imagined she thought was a beguiling cat-like pose.

“We represent Moggie’s Purr, the new
day spa on West 45th,” she announced brightly.

“Although we can’t offer anything on the scale of your donation, of
course, Mr. Wayne.”

“We all do what we can,” Bruce noted
cautiously.“What is it I, or
the Foundation, rather, can do for you ladies?”

In unison, they smiled again, a smile vaguely reminiscent of Catwoman’s
naughty grin, a smile much closer to that beguilingly feline quality they
seemed to be going for.

“It’s what we’d like to do for you,
Mr. Wayne,” Felicity purred seductively.“We’re newcomers to Gotham, so, of course, we want to introduce
ourselves to everybody that… matters.That’s why we’re offering a free spa day to all the museum board
members and, of course, to fellow sponsors like yourself.”

“I see.What a delightful idea,” Bruce enthused, permitting a little more Fop
to creep into his demeanor than he would usually exhibit in the Wayne
offices.“I will certainly
consider it.”

A spa?A day spa?Riddler tried
to massage the physical pain of idiocy out of his temples.An EVIL HEALTH SPA??? It was such a ludicrously
hackneyed cliché, it made his head hurt.

But that’s what the silly woman said
on the phone when Riddler called the number he obtained from the Iceberg.“Moggie’s Purr Day Spa,” that’s how those cat-groupies answered the
phone.

An evil health spa.What could Oswald possibly be doing with that old chestnut
that was worth $100,000?As a
riddle, a conundrum, a tauntingly unanswered question, it was shaping up to
be a barnburner.But as a—a
happening amongst one of Gotham’s old guard rogues—it was… it was… it made his head hurt!

Located eighty miles outside of
Gotham, Zack’s was the last roadhouse Greg and Talia would stop at before
they got back to the city.He
stressed this.It really was
her last chance to throw caution to the wind and try some pie.All roadhouses had great pie.

“Banana cream,” Greg read enticingly
off the menu.“Tee, how can you
keep eating scrambled eggs day after day and not break it up with a really
good slice of pie now and then?”

Talia raised a haughty eyebrow, picked
up her fork, and held it out in front of her, suspended between her
fingertips.

“This,” she pronounced, “is cheap,
punched out tin.No one who
presents a diner with a utensil of this kind is fit to prepare food.No food meant to be eaten with a utensil of this kind can serve any
purpose other than postponing starvation.As we are only a few hours from Gotham and palatable meals, I am in
no danger of starving.A bottle
of Evian is all I shall require.”

Greg sighed and grinned apologetically up at the waitress.

“Got any bottled water?” he asked mildly.

The waitress shook her head, and Talia
assumed the look of a long-suffering queen in exile as she settled for a cup
of weak coffee.Greg ordered “a
big slab of that chocolate pie—and two forks,” he added with a wink, “in
case she comes around.”

Bruce kept up the genial smile and
witless banter until the strangely feline representatives of the Moggie’s
Purr Day Spa left his office, then he underwent one of the most
disconcerting transformations in existence:his entire demeanor shifted in a split second, his jaw clenching
tightly, his eyes darkening, his entire body seeming to condense into a
heavier, denser mass.His walk as he returned to the desk was not that of Bruce
Wayne in either business or fop mode; it was Batman’s.The forceful punch of the intercom was Batman’s, and so was
the brooding scowl that crept over his features as a light, careless voice
told Lucius he was leaving for the day.

There was nothing unusual about a new
business aiming for upscale clientele.There was nothing suspect in their using museum sponsorship to target
the rich, the famous, and the beautiful people.And superficially, there wasn’t anything suspicious in their
having a cat theme and their representatives approaching him with such
markedly feline deportment.But
something about it was wrong.Every instinct said so.

Bruce Wayne was known to be linked
romantically with Selina Kyle; Selina was known to be Catwoman.It wasn’t a stretch to think he might be receptive to catlike women.If this was a trap… His mind quickly listed and prioritized the
pertinent questions:

Who was behind it?What were they
after?Why was Bruce Wayne the target?Was he the only target?When
sprung, what would the trap itself consist of?

As with all questions of this kind,
Bruce knew finding any one answer would point him to others.The most promising question in that respect was the last, and that
meant he had to investigate the spa.

The closer they got to Gotham, the
more Talia began to feel her old self again.The sight of the great city growing on the horizon as they neared the
10th Street Bridge, the pitch shift in the sounds of the traffic
as they moved from open highway to the close avenues between tall buildings,
the smells of those cars and busses, street vents and food carts… It was
revolting.Talia did not like
Gotham City.

…A billboard for a jeweler screamed
“CATWORTHY”…

Talia ignored this large purple
reminder of a… a woman who made Belov-… who made Bruce Wayne
happy in ways that she herself evidently could not.

…A T-shirt store in Times Square displayed a huge bat emblem in an
enormous yellow circle…

Again, Talia made an effort to ignore
the image which represented her Beloved Bruce, and which he himself wore on
the many occasions when he… spurned her affections.

It was fitting, certainly, that Beloved’s name be celebrated in the city
he gave so much.

…They passed another banner…

It was fitting. Gotham
was, in essence, Beloved’s capital city—just as it would be if he had
accepted her many offers and taken his rightful place as her father’s heir.
Gotham would be his capital, and there would be banners throughout
celebrating his name.But he declined this glory because it was not what he wished
his life to be.

…They passed another banner…

It was a pity he didn’t recognize how
wonderful it would be: the two of them reigning as King and Queen of DEMON,
and hence, the world. But what could she do??She had tried everything a woman could to entice him, everything to
make him understand, and she kept on trying, rejection after rejection,
denial after denial, until finally he took refuge in the arms of that vermin
slut..

…Finally they came to Wayne Plaza
itself, where a signboard listed LL-Research Group, LexTech, and LuCo
Investments.Talia’s stomach
lurched as she saw these former LexCorp divisions being publicly welcomed
into “The Wayne Enterprises family.”

Everywhere were reminders of old
rejections, old failures, old bitterness, and old jealousies.And Talia’s eyes swelled with tears… The “vermin slut” was…was no slut. Her name was Selina Kyle and… Bruce, not Beloved,
Bruce loved the scheming cat-witch… loved “Selina” as he didn’t love
her…He wasn’t bewitched or
seduced or ensnared.He was in
love.That was how he behaved
when he was in love.He had
never welcomed Talia into his life the way had the verm… the way he did
Selina, because he had never loved her—just like he’d said.Many times.Very
many times.

Talia did not like Gotham City.

Seventy-eight Floors above Talia
squirming in Wayne Plaza, one floor above Bruce leaving the executive suite,
Selina strolled alone through the lush penthouse.This is where she’d come the night she faced the truth about the
MoMA.The museum had closed for
renovation shortly after she closed Cat-Tales.The final meeting between Batman-the-crimefighter and
Catwoman-the-thief occurred on their roof, watching from above as they
packed up their collection. She had laid down a challenge that night, the
reopening gala of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art was going to be a banquet
for Catwoman: the art, the jewels, the prestige of the ultimate heist, all
hers for the taking.She had
challenged Batman, and now, three years later, the time had come to make it
good, the museum was ready to reopen… and none of it was going to happen.She lived in his house now, she slept in his bed, she called him
Bruce and he called her Kitten.

Catwoman’s great triumph at the MoMA reopening could never happen now.

She’d faced up to that reality months
ago, and she’d come here to the penthouse with a vaguely formed notion of
playing a prank.The artworks
were just as modern as the museum collection, just as priceless, just as…
“Catworthy” as that billboard over the bridge put it.Then she’d become distracted, there was an Ivy incident when she’d
reached the penthouse and she’d forgotten all about that prank.But now…

After leaving the Iceberg the night
before, she’d felt restless and nostalgic.She’d gone back to the MoMA, gone into the offices to learn what she
could of their new security and layout.By chance, she found insurance documents on the Van Gogh, Batman’s
favorite painting.It reminded
her of her original plans for the reopening gala.

She slept in his bed now, she kept
her catsuit underneath his bed—and she discovered the last time she was
down there that Nutmeg stashed her treasures there as well.Her cat stole Batman’s socks and hid them underneath the bed they
shared; the days of filching a Van Gogh to prove she could were over.So she’d gone home and crawled into that bed and spent an hour
watching him sleep…and then,
this morning, she’d come back to this penthouse to decide what to do now.

Oswald Cobblepot glanced at his own
image reflected in the banker’s lamp, thinking how much he resembled a
Gotham Santa Claus.For here he
sat, pen poised in judgment over an exhaustive list culled from so many
sources: Arkham admissions, Blackgate releases, and outstanding Iceberg
Lounge bar tabs, to determine who was most deserving of this priceless gift.

Here, truly, was a census of the
Gotham underworld…Double Dare,
such charming ladies and sure to make profitable use of the boon if it were
offered them.He was sorry
indeed to learn they were still locked away in Blackgate…King Snake, limitless profit potential there—but a competitor.Oswald was not about to turn over so valuable a tool to a
competing crime boss.He would
receive twenty percent of all King Snake earned with it, but Snake himself
would keep eighty percent, and with a war chest like that he could destroy
the Iceberg.On the same
principle, the Italian mobs, Yakuza, Odessa, and the triads were ineligible
as customers…Black Mask… a
small -kwak- chuckle escaped his lips.Like that nattering nabob would ever be anything more than a cheap
Bond villain wannabe.One does
not bestow the keys to a Ferrari on a pizza deliveryman…That left the rogues, and the rogues could be sadly impractical when
it came to the bottom line.
Joker, Clayface, Croc, Frieze—they might put the boon to very creative use
in their personal vendettas against Batman, but it was unlikely they’d make
any money with it.And twenty
percent of “OOH-HAHAHAHAHA-Dead-Bat” was of no use to him.

Of course, the one perfect
candidate—well, no, that wasn’t possible.Damn Hugo.

Nigma was an obvious choice, of
course.Even if his schemes
were superficially about outsmarting Batman more than turning a profit, he
still managed to end in the black any time he didn’t end up in Arkham.Riddler might not be a cash cow, but he could be a solid, dependable
earner so long as he didn’t get himself captured.

Still, the one perfect
candidate—the purrfect candidate, in fact—was Selina.She wouldn’t go using it to kill Batman, that’s for sure; she’d use
it as it was meant to be used, to make a fortune for everyone concerned.And yet Catwoman was the one criminal Oswald was forbidden to sell
to.Damn Hugo and his
conditions!It was all Blake’s
doing, Oswald had no doubt, and why they needed him involved at all Oswald
couldn’t imagine.A petty
vindictive worm, that’s what Tom Blake was.

Selina would make them all a fortune.In one week, most likely, she could set them all up for life.Damn Hugo –kwak–.
Damn Blake –kwak–.Damn
them all.

Felicity greeted Bruce Wayne at the
front desk of the Moggie’s Purr Day Spa with the same suggestively feline
manner she’d exhibited at his office, the same manner she’d exhibited at the
Iceberg in her hope to attract Tom Blake.She recommended the spa’s signature package, the Moggie’s Purr:“A sixty-minute deep tissue massage accompanied by the soothing sound
of a cat purring.”As an added
bonus, she said, Mr. Wayne could keep the CD of recorded purrs, ideal for
at-home meditation, relaxation and self-healing.

He agreed and Felicity turned him over
to a new girl, “Mau,” the most unabashedly feline specimen so far.As Mau escorted him into a plush salon, Hugo Strange watched from
behind a two-way mirror.

Soon.Soon the soft lull of the cat’s purr, and the inaudible but highly
functional binaural tracks hidden within those sounds, would gently produce
soothing theta waves in Bruce Wayne’s brain, which, coupled with the
sedative in the massage oil, would induce a state of deep relaxation and
intense suggestibility.

Soon, Batman could be switched off
with a simple verbal command, enabling Hugo’s agents to escape from any
confrontation without fear of pursuit.Soon the destruction of the Batman would begin!

“I don’t ask much of my friends and
colleagues,” Eddie complained to the chalkboard, which now displayed five
smaller white question marks surrounding the original oversized green one.“I ask only that they not occupy Batman’s attention when I am
trying to leave a riddle at the Bat-Signal, and that they not be stupid.It really isn’t too much to ask.”

This Oswald puzzle would drive him
mad!The Penguin was one of the
all-time great Gotham rogues, and the question of how such a mastermind
could be reduced to a tired cliché like “evil health spa” remained
unanswered.

Then Oswald compounded the
riddle by sending word that this great “boon” was now ready: A trigger
phrase implanted in BATMAN to make him abandon pursuit of any
criminal that uttered it???It
made no sense—Oswald said the Bat-password was now in place—a done
deal.How could he possibly have achieved such a thing?And how did the Moggie’s Purr day spa fit in?And what was a Moggie anyway?

A quick trip to Google answered the
last question; it was a cat of mixed ancestry, the feline equivalent of a
mutt—which didn’t get him any closer to solving the Oswald question.A “cat-mutt” only reminded him of Tom Blake, the Catman, who the
tabloids had turned into a Greek god, while their new take on the Riddler’s
appearance could best be described as “Colin Farrell meets Boy George.”Catman with a hoard of delicious cat-girl groupies, while the only
persons hanging around the Iceberg hoping to meet the Riddler were the
understudies from the Rocky Horror Show and… wait… Catman groupies were
staffing Oswald’s Zoolander day spa, which had a cat-theme “Moggie’s Purr,”
and somehow or other they got a trigger phrase implanted into Batman…

But Oswald didn’t know Batman’s
secret identity and neither did Tom Blake.There’s no way they could know they had him in their spa unless…
Someone else was involved, someone who did know Batman was Bruce
Wayne, and that was a short list.

HUGO!Hugo Strange was NOT one of the great Gotham rogues. Hugo Strange was
not old guard like Riddler, Penguin and Catwoman.Hugo Strange was just the sort of addled nitwit that would come up
with a mind-numbingly stupid cliché like an Evil Day Spa!

Riddler marched up to the chalkboard, erased the question marks, cracked
his knuckles, and set to work.

Barbara knew her Oracle filters
couldn’t detect each and every piece of authentic bat-paraphernalia that
came up on eBay. There were always typos and erroneous descriptions.Even if she could locate every “Gotam City Bataroon” that came up for
sale, there would be so many fakes to sift through, she wouldn’t have any
time left to function as Oracle.Her automated routines weren’t perfect, but she was satisfied that
they acquired most of the loose Batarangs.

It was only when Dick was outbid on
that Haley Circus poster that it occurred to her to tag the others who bid
against her in the Batarang auctions and investigate their future buying.That was how she discovered “SigmundFledermaus,” who had purchased,
as nearly as she could determine, two genuine Batarangs.SigmundFledermaus… it warranted further investigation.

In her present state of mind, Selina wasn’t thrilled about meeting Eddie
for drinks at the Plaza (“just like old times, eh, ‘Lina?”), but given the
funk he was in since his birthday, she didn’t see how she could refuse.

He had her favorite drink waiting when
she arrived, and he was glowing with pleasure as she sat down as if it was
the first good thing that happened to him all day.It was hard to ignore.

“So,” he announced, placing his palms
on the table with a determined glint after she raised her glass to her lips,
“How many years has it been, my ‘WEAK LION,’ hm?Want to team up, ‘Lina?We could set the city on its ear.I see you in green.”

Selina smiled affectionately as she took her cue. “I work alone,” she
pronounced firmly.

“LAKE I NO ROW,” Riddler exclaimed, lifting his hand to his brow in an
exaggerated pose of dramatic woe as he churned out anagrams on the familiar
phrase. “OK, A LIER WON—OW LINEAR OK—WEAK LION OR… The lady works alone.”

“There’s no one like you, Eddie,” Selina laughed, “And there never will
be… Thank god.”

He smiled, then turned serious.

“They were good days.”

“They were,” she agreed.“Eddie, you’re forty, you’re not dead.Get yourself a hot sports car… or beat up Azrael.Both are great for the ego.”

He grinned sadly.“That how you do it?”

She raised a dangerous eyebrow.

“Do what?”

“Massage the old ego now that you’ve hung up your whiskers.”

“Ex-cuse me?” Selina blurted, nearly spilling her drink in shock.

“C’mon, ‘Lina, you forget I know the real story there: you, Bruce, cat,
m-hm-bwm-vwm,” he added, making a subtle flapping motion with his hands to
punctuate the nonsense syllables, “and not so much anymore with the best
thief in Gotham City-meow-purr-hiss.”

“You need a sports car,” he declared, reverting to the lighter mood, “or
to beat up Azrael.”

She laughed.

“Or a really good win,” he added.

“Yeah,” she admitted.“A win… would be meow.”

The night the first reports hit the
Iceberg, Oswald should have been elated.Rumors of wildly improbable escapes from Batman, backed up with
celebratory rounds of drinks for everyone at the bar and an extra C-note for
Sly just for being the best goddamn bartender in the best goddamn city in
the world, Hurrah!

A barful of gleeful patrons falling
over each other to buy each other drinks, and he got twenty percent
of the windfall they were celebrating.He should have been ecstatic, but all his greedy mind could think of
was Catwoman.Nigma let it slip
that his favorite Felonious Feline was finally fed-up with her fence.The lovely alliteration made the ravenous birdman salivate.For years, Penguin had been shut out of the most profitable fencing
opportunity in Gotham: Catwoman was headquartered here, Catwoman the best
thief in the world, Catwoman who came regularly into his nightclub,
called him “Pengy” and “Ozzy” and taught his bartenders to make her special
martini. Catwoman lived HERE and yet she gave her business to that
Beverly Stendal in Argentina, Igor Fabricant in Brussels, and Anna
however-you-say-that-name in San Francisco.

One time Catwoman had given him the
chance to feather his nest and he’d laid an egg.She’d just taken up with Bruce Wayne, a new world of fabulously
wealthy Gothamites opened up to her, and she’d given Oswald a chance to bid.He thought he’d offered a fair price, but it was too low and
she was insulted.He was too
“small-time” for her.

Penguin could not let another such
opportunity pass him by.He was
not small-time; he had a password in his possession to shut off Batman.

Twenty percent of everything Catwoman
stole plus the fencing contracts… it was the chance of a lifetime.And the Penguin did not take policy from the likes of Hugo Strange.